The Heart and the Might
by Skyrene
Summary: What does it take to train a Banette?
1. Prologue

**The Heart and the Might**

* * *

_Prologue_

* * *

She leaned against the window glass, sighing appreciatively and giggling as a new scream echoed from the house. How she loved to hear children cry. It made her feel good to no end – and even better, it made her stronger. She didn't like children. She never did. After all, they always grow bored with everything, always demanding more of everything, and throw a stupid fit when they didn't get what they wanted.

No, she liked children screaming best, she decided. The shrieking of a young child was something she would kill to hear, and their misery was a delicacy.

Luckily for her, this place she lived in wasn't lacking in that. It was a small town after all, beaten down by starvation, abandonment of the government and ravaged by war and thugs until it could no longer even raise its head. Bad things happened all the time, the wild Pokémons were dangerous and vicious, and the inhabitants themselves were the lowest of the low. The perfect root for hatred.

The child – a little girl – screamed again, and she sighed again in appreciation. She giggled as there was a harsh sound and the scream was restrained to a choked sob. Ah, the fine things of life.

There was no more screams, but somehow the restrained sobs were even sweeter. She cackled softly, hovering near the window and trying to peek through the glass, but it was fogged, and the curtains were drawn. She made a sound of disappointment. If only she could _see_ it!

"Hey!"

Annoyed but not startled or fearful at the sudden interruption, the banette slowly spun around to face the speaker. He was a boy, sixteen of age or so, with light hair and dark eyes. He was glaring at her with absolute loathing. "What are you doing here?" he spat.

She cackled at his anger, and the boy's face twisted into an ugly mask of fury. He hurled a rock at her, which she easily dodged. It slammed into the window instead, breaking the glass. There was the sound of that harsh voice again, a man, yelling in surprise.

In the weak moonlight, the banette could see the boy paled. She giggled at his expense and floated away just as the door swung open, fading into the shadow and reappearing on the rooftop, where she could watch the entire thing more easily.

The door banged against the wall as a tall, bare silhouette of a man marched out of the house and toward the boy, then brought a hand down toward his face in a startlingly strong slap. The banette tilted her head in amusement, floating up a little higher so she could watch the little episode better. She watched as the boy staggered, nearly falling to the ground, waiting expectantly for tears or argument.

Surprisingly, there was nothing. The boy righted himself and glared up at the man through his mass of light hair, standing tall in the moonlight. His eyes flickered toward the banette, and she could feel defiance _radiating_ from his thin, underweight and undersize body.

For some reason, it made her shiver.

The man shouted again, profanities streaming from his mouth in an ugly torrent, but his drunken anger wasn't fun to the banette; it was annoying. He wasn't a child. He would never be able to produce the misery that only _children_ were capable of giving off, and so it irritated her. He sounded stupid, words slurred together and made the shouting merely incoherent mumbling.

Still, the boy said nothing.

Twice the man hit him, once across the face and another slamming his foot into his stomach, driving him back. But the boy never fell once, only staggering upright again and resumed his glaring. It was a fun match, the banette decided, unconsciously leaning toward the fiasco with anticipation. Even though the man was stupid, it was very entertaining.

Finally, to her disappointment (but only because her amusement for the night was taken away), the brute grabbed a handful of the boy's hair and dragged him into the house. Her perfect night vision allowed her to see the boy flinching slightly, but that was all. He did not resist the thug, but he did not let it go easily either.

They disappeared into the tattered, rundown building. The door slammed shut, the girl's choked sobs resumed, and there was the sound of shattering glass, thrown against walls and the sound of a whip slicing through air, hitting flesh.

She remained where she was, for hours and hours.

Only the girl's crying was heard.

Stubborn. So, _so_ stubborn.

The banette giggled again, covering her zipper-like mouth with her three-fingered hands. But so very _fun_.


	2. Chapter 1: Hope

**Chapter 1 – Hope**

"Ah, don't you know when enough is enough?" the old man sighed, reaching for a piece of cotton and dipped it in some kind of salve before gently rubbing it down one of the red lines on the boy's back.

"_He_ started it!" the boy in question bit back, his voice harsh as he tried to mask his wince with a casual shrug. "I didn't do anything! As usual."

The old man raised an eyebrow, but didn't respond. He knew nothing would deter the boy's belief even if he did try, and he _had_ been trying for the better part of three years now. It never got any better. His time on this world was ending after all, so why waste his time trying to accomplish the impossible? He wasn't a god.

His patient winced again. "Stay still," the old man warned, one callous hand gripping the younger's shoulder to keep him in his place. The wriggling ceased instantly. With a sigh (he seemed to do that a lot lately), he returned the ball of cotton back into a small metal tray he kept nearby and stood from the bed he was kneeling on to go search for another medicine.

"By Arceus?" the old man commented with a raised eyebrow as he peered at a small earthen pot, "you nearly used up my salve!"

The boy on the bed turned and grimaced at him, brushing stringy white hair out of his face. "Go charge Ugly."

"Well, now, who would tend to you if even the healer is knocked out cold by the gorilla?" The doctor – so to speak – turned back to his patient with a small grin.

He was rewarded with a similar grin, albeit this one was a little strained. "Thanks for the support, Greybeard. I appreciate it." The boy sighed and carefully shifted so that he could lie down on his stomach on the bed. The mattress was stiff and smelly, the blanket too thin, but it was better than concrete.

Greybeard returned with the salve and began to slather it on the boy's back. He'd always winced at the injuries his young friend always seemed to obtain, whether from street fights, tangling with the wild Pokémons outside, or provoking his uncle. Now, however, all he did was grimaced. The familiarity sinks in after six years of the same stuff, after all.

Ten minutes later, he straightened and wiped his face. "There, it's done," Greybeard announced. "Now lie still and don't go ruin my handiwork. Like last time. Or the time before that."

"Or the time before _that_," the boy finished sarcastically. Regardless, he was contented to obey the doctor's orders. Just this once. The whip marks hurt like hell, after all.

Greybeard opened his mouth to say something else, probably asking if anything was all right due to the boy's sudden compliance, but a shout from outside the hut interrupted him.

"Greybeard!" a girl shrieked. "It's Miki! She's–"

"Coming, my child," Greybeard hollered. He sent his patient one last glare before picking up his discarded beggar jacket and rushed out the door, taking with him the rusty emergency kit. It was easy to tell it was the same one he'd used in his sixty years in the village. There was only one first-aid kit on this island, after all.

Left alone to his own devices, the boy pillowed his chin on his arm and studied the wall without interest. Greybeard's medicine was working miracle, as always. The sting on his back was already subsiding. When it stopped altogether, he would get out of here and go find Miranda. What was the little girl doing, he wondered. During the day, she would run around with the other children in the town, in her safe little group of friends.

She was safe from thugs for the time being. The boy sighed. At least that was a relief. He wouldn't have to deal with him for awhile yet. Miranda wasn't stupid. She wouldn't so much as show her face anywhere _near_ the adults for as long as she possibly could. Her friends could take care of her efficiently. In a place where children were the equivalent of street trash, you either stick together or you die, after all.

Another relief. On the Miranda front, he had nothing to worry about at the moment. No, he probably should just go give her a quick check, delivering some medicines (although Greybeard _did_ treat her first but she'd refused to stay and wait for him, and he himself had shooed her away), and then head out of town to go gathering. The berries – the ones still surviving the Poisoning a decade ago – would be in bloom this season. They were often a treat, and he wondered if he could get enough for Miranda and all her friends, too.

The sound of footsteps drawing near caused him to look up. He was greeted with a brown-haired little girl holding a bundle of pink in her arms, a look of panic in her eyes.

"Solstice," he greeted.

"Hope," she gave him a tiny smile, scurrying toward him as he tried to rise onto his elbows. "Can I put Miki next to you, please?" she asked.

He nodded, and she lowered the bundle in her arm onto the hard mattress. It gave out a small, pitiful meow, but didn't move. This caused the girl to bite her bottom lip in worry. She fussed around with the blanket for a little bit, but then Greybeard returned to the scene with a small bag of something. He went to kneel next to Solstice, searched around the bag, and withdrew a small, dried-up yellow berry that eerily resembled an onion.

"Feed it to her," he instructed. Solstice obeyed, and soon the berry disappeared into the pink Pokémon's – for it was a Pokémon, a Cleffa to be exact – mouth. All three watched, some with baited breath, as the small pink thing devoured the berry.

Less than five minutes later, Miki the Cleffa was back in Solstice's arms, as healthy as could be if in a state of utter confusion.

"That's to be expected," Greybeard told her as he returned from putting up the small bag. "The Iapapa berry is very powerful, but it might also cause confusion. Just let Miki rest for a bit, and she'll be fine."

"Thank you, thank you!" Solstice said hurriedly before scurrying out of the room. She threw a "Good-bye, Hope" over her shoulder as she disappeared. The boy didn't even have a chance to wave.

Greybeard sighed through his nose and took a seat on the bed, hands on knees. "Well, ain't she a bundle of energy?" he joked.

His companion grunted. "Yeah, she is. That's why her ma got her the Cleffa in the first place. Aria's always been a wise woman."

The healer nodded, his eyes distant as he recalled something from the past that the younger couldn't see. Then his face grew sad, just as it always did when he remembered something, and he got to his feet again. "Well, gotta go check on that old woman down near Fall Garden. She's probably needing her usual medicine right now. Where you going, Hope?" The question was said a little sharply as Greybeard's patient crawled his way out of bed.

"Out," was the simple reply as the boy slipped into his old sleeveless sweater and then his even more beat-up jacket. He gestured with a hand at the general direction of his back. "It's fine, Greybeard. He didn't actually break any skin. Now bye."

"Well, don't strain yourself," Greybeard replied, dubious still. "I wouldn't want you to ruin my work again."

He got no reply, as the boy was already gone.

* * *

Once, he hated his name so very much.

There was no such thing as "hope" or "optimism" in a place like this, even if the sun glared down on it everyday. The light didn't chase away their poverty, didn't keep most of the more dangerous out, wild Pokémons at bay, and certainly didn't evaporate their worries. They were still rotten, living in rotting house, living a rotten life, and had not a rotten future.

However, time passed, and he continued to live, and the name lost its meaning. It was just an empty title, a name given to him by his parents whom he couldn't remember, and something to be known by. People said it, and he responded to it, but that was about as much as "hope" meant to him.

At least he didn't cringe as much when someone said it anymore, like he used to.

Hope headed out of town, using the alleys. He'd never liked the main roads much. They were always hiding some bullies or things of the same group as bullies. It was safer to travel in the dark, as the alleyway system was confusing and only someone who was used to it could navigate without getting lost once or twice.

It had been years since he started wandering around here, and he knew it like the back of his hands. Four left turns and two right turns later found him at the edge of his small village, all that standing between him and the wilderness was a flimsy wooden fence, not even sharpened or whole.

Hope studied the fence. It had places ripped open and holes everywhere, most of them big enough for a rattata or a houndoor to come through. There were places where the wood was obviously burned, while others where claw marks could be seen. It was a miracle why the beasts from beyond hadn't come and attack the village yet. If they wanted to, they sure could.

With a sigh, Hope reached out and grabbed the fence's top, then with practice ease, propelled himself up and over it. He landed on his feet on the other side, stirring up a cloud of dirt. Hope dusted himself and intended to walk away.

"Doof!"

The boy froze. Slowly, he turned to face the source of the noise. There, hidden between several stacked rocks, a pair of eyes glared out at him. The sunlight reflected off something white. Teeth. Big teeth, and probably very sharp too.

As slowly and calmly as he could, Hope began to edge away. His eyes remained fixed on the…thing…in the shadow. While he had yet to actually got chewed on by something aside from a little growlithe in an unfortunate incident (and that one's teeth wasn't sharp enough to pierce skin), he didn't want to be chewed on either. And he _had_ seen a boy with a bloody hole right through his leg coming to Greybeard, because he'd run into a cranky bidoof.

The eyes watched him go, and when Hope was far enough from them, they disappeared, and so did the impressive teeth. There was a shuffle as the bidoof retreated deeper into the darkness of its home, contented to leave the human alone.

Hope walked away rapidly, careful to keep as quiet as possible. He did not breathe again until he was six yards from the rodent. Then he sighed in relief, running a hand through his hair.

Maybe someday he would no longer be afraid of it. Someday.

* * *

A fifteen-minute walk brought the boy onto a hilltop not very far from the village. It was not exactly a favorite spot, as upon his discovery for the first time of the place, he'd nearly been killed by an angry (but luckily, dying) skarmory. The steel bird could've probably pecked his eyes out or something, but Hope was fast and smart enough to escape.

The next time he came by, there was only a heap of rusting metal.

It was still there as he climbed the final steps up the steep hill and emerged into the small clearing sitting on its top. There was little of it left, only the head plate and the wings, but it was still noticeable as once belonging to a skarmory. Hope stopped to study it for a few moments before turning away.

He sat cross-legged a distance from the remains, staring into the west. It was early evening, so the sun was still pretty high above the horizon. Not for long, though, he thought. The sun seemed to always set faster here. He supposed it was because he was further east of the village. Or something like that. Hope wasn't big on the whole science thing. Heck, he barely knew how to read.

The only _good_ thing he could get out of this was that the air was slightly less smelly and thick here. The trees that were surrounding him were berry trees. Once upon a time, Greybeard often said, these trees hid ripe fruits among their leaves, year-round, and everyone was welcomed to take their share because there was enough for everyone.

But that was before the poisoning.

Hope glanced up, directing his gaze north. There, he could see the familiar mountain range that marked the boundary between forest and ocean. He could also see the small, unnaturally red masses there, obvious even from this distance. They were what remained of the factories and companies who'd come here to Paradise Island long ago and conducted experiments on the soil and berries.

As the story went, Paradise Island was once renowned for its almost endless supply of berries of every kind imaginable. It attracted all sort of rare pokémons all over the world, and trainers and normal people alike rushed to it to find what they wanted, be it berries or another creature to add to their collection. There were a few rare species that _only_ existed on the island as well, and all this made Paradise Island a famous destination.

Until one of the factories that shipped out berries and made fertilizers exploded, that was.

That factory was studying a new powerful manmade substance that was supposedly going to boost the fruits produced and growth of any kind of berry trees. However, as the Paradise Island people soon found out, that was a nasty lie. The "fertilizer" in its gas form was released into the air when the factory blew up, spread by the winds, and three months later, there was not a tree (not necessarily a _berry_ tree) alive or fruiting in the province.

Naturally, they tried to stop it from spreading, but humans didn't control the winds. By the time the government and the companies and their law suits have settled with something, all of Paradise Island was reduced to waste. Nothing else would grow, no matter how much they prayed to their gods and tried to plant.

Six months after the disaster known as the Poisoning, the government withdrew their support. They had their own war to fight, they said, with a bunch of rebellions who apparently didn't like them very much, and Paradise Island was left on its own to wilt the rest of the way.

It had been a decade. The island was completely forgotten. No more ship came or went, and they were trapped there. The pokémons around them were vicious, at least the ones still left over from that time, or those who were attracted by the misery and bad emotions the land generated. It wasn't uncommon for ghosts, like gengars or shuppets to be seen around here.

That was one thing post-Paradise Island was rich in: ghost pokémons.

Hope was born a year after the Poisoning, so he'd been given enough to eat and to live by until he was four. Greybeard raised him for most of it, and the rest he learned on his own. The old man had been responsible for giving him education, as spotty as it had been, and had taken care of him more carefully than he had with any of the dozens of children running around in the village.

Greybeard, however, denied any blood relationship with Hope when he asked. Not that Hope asked much.

The world wasn't kind, however, and that was one thing the boy had quickly found out. It especially wasn't kind to someone who was different. His hair was a very light blond, nearly white, and his skin was fair, not browned like the others. Yet his eyes were dark black, just like them. He was a half-this half-that. He wasn't welcomed. He stood out too much, drew too much attention, and they were afraid he would draw that attention to _them_ as well.

A rustling sound caught Hope's attention, and he spun around to face the intruder of his peace, already halfway to his feet and ready to bolt. He was powerless against even the weakest of pokémon, he knew, and he wasn't going to test his luck.

"It's me!" a voice said hastily as Hope fully regained his footings. Following the voice was a figure, nearly two heads taller than Hope himself with dark hair, brown skin and dark eyes. He was raising his hands and holding them in front of him as a gesture of "I come in peace".

The flash of fear Hope had experienced from before faded slowly. "Victor," he greeted, dusting his hands off and tried to keep his composure. "What're you doing here?"

"Looking for you," Victor replied. He gave the remains of the skarmory a glance before returning his gaze to Hope. "Listen, I need your help with something."

"I'm listening."

The young man started to talk, saying something about a special device, one of the factories in the north, a long walk and Greybeard, but Hope wasn't listening intently. Instead, his eyes dashed from side to side, studying the trees and thickets at the hill's foot, looking for something that he thought he'd seen.

A shiver ran down his spine. Just moments before Victor showed up, he thought he'd seen something red at the edge of the forest. He glanced at the young man. Victor was wearing a dull blue shirt and cargo pants. There was no way he'd been able to cause that flash of red, even if he did try.

Hope shivered again, this time openly. Victor paused in his talking, concerned. "What's wrong?" he asked.

"Nothing," Hope lied, still looking at the trees. "Just…let's go somewhere else, okay? I don't like this place anymore."

Victor raised an eyebrow, but nodded in understanding. "I get that," he said. "I felt like there were eyes on my back whenever I come around here."

* * *

_Any complain? Aside from the glaring issue with "what the hell were you doing and not updating?"_

_I chose the name Hope out of nostalgia. You may like it, you may not. Most of you, though, will probably think it's a little girlish for a guy, but hey, it works for me._

_Next chapter will be the banette. I want to alternate POVs once every one or two chapters, since I want to develop this guy, too. Right now I think I like the banette better. And guess who was watching him._


End file.
